Excerpt from The Unripe Windfalls, in Prose and Verse
Stranger.
A land there is beyond your northern sea,
More dear than even the Vaux de Vire to me;
A land of hill-and-dale slope, flower, and tree,
And ruddy sunset and bird-melody.
Vaux de Vire.
Far off that land, far off beyond the deep;
Rocks rise between, waves roll, and tempests sweep;
Our spring is nigh; thou see'st the violet peeping;
In yonder bush 'tis Philomel that's cheeping.
Stranger.
In that far land, beyond that stormy sea,
Are friends that love me, know me, think of me;
Beneath its sod my babies twain are laid,
And its long grass waves o'er my mother's head;
Waves o'er that mother's head who so oft blessed me,
And to her beating bosom so oft pressed me;
That noble mother to whose love I owe
All that I am, or hope, or feel, or know;
That wont so oft, on such an eve, to lean
Her arm on mine, and point to such a scene,
To such a glowing heaven and setting sun;
Then turn and see the night come slowly on;
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